Remember the Day
by kalina16
Summary: Following the complete destruction of Gamor's normalcy and his ever-evolving opinion on the legendarily annoying Petra Quill. (Partial genderswap)


**I'm not even sure where this one came from, and I wish I was sorry. So have some genderswapped Peter/Gamora (or at least the beginnings of it).**

**I apologize for any mistakes, I haven't seen the movie quite as many times as I'd like to have D: I'm also drawing on the idea that Rocket is holding Groot when they all defeat Ronan with the power of friendship, which is a minor detail but it's still in the fic, just in case you were wondering!**

**I sadly do not own Guardians of the Galaxy.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

As the adopted (enslaved) son of Thanos, Gamor, assassin, warrior, and best at his job, has rarely found time for affection. Stars only knows he has never been given any. So apart from the occasional flirting to further his own ends, he has never really taken any interest in women. He simply does not have time for such frivolities.

Which is why the woman slouching her way into the Kyln in front of him is such a conundrum.

There is nothing particularly remarkable about her-she is clearly human, with her reddish-brown hair and pinkish skin, her eyes an unremarkable shade of hazel. There is nothing particularly attractive about her demeanor, either; she is loud and overconfident, reeking of arrogance and an unchecked need to rebel against anyone and everything. And she is a flirt. A horribly obnoxious flirt. The fact that he has gathered all this about her in the mere ten minutes of contact and day being processed together does not bode well in her favor.

All in all, he should certainly be avoiding her. People like her are bad investments-pretty and blinding, but fading out quickly at the slightest hint of trouble. She calls herself Star-lord, for heaven's sakes-she is a wanted outlaw. A _Ravager_, dishonorable scum. She got into a shouting match with a guard when he called her Star-princess.

What she has against Star-lady, he doesn't know.

But he doesn't particularly care, either, so hazel-eyed, obnoxious flirt Petra Jaina Quill can go be an honorless thief in hell for all he cares.

Except she put up a surprisingly good fight for the orb. And though he would never, ever, in a thousand millennia admit it, she almost had him there. For a split second. At any rate, she was far from over her head-a fairly good shot, and remarkably quick on her feet. So maybe he is simply prematurely judging her. After all, you can't believe all the rumors you hear-

"Hey! Dumbass! That's mine!" he jerks around, the others following suit, to see Quill step through one of the holding doors, accosting a guard who seems to be examining some foreign device, Terran, probably, that is emitting music. Curious.

His curiosity is quickly replaced by disbelief as the human charges the guard, yelling in high tones how that is _her_ music and _her_ song and something about a 'blue swede'.

Perhaps you _can_ believe the rumors you hear, he thinks as the guard zaps Quill. This woman is displaying nothing short of suicidal idiocy.

But despite collapsing to her knees from the shock she is _still yelling about her music_, determined desperation emanating from her in waves.

It is actually somewhat commendable, her persistence, he thinks as he watches her writhe on the ground. Idiotic, but begrudgingly admirable.

So as much as he wishes to deny it, Gamor finds himself, quite gratingly, interested in her.

He should probably kill her.

* * *

His first moments in the Kyln pass about as well as he expected. He is hated, of course-and how can he blame them. He knows far too well the cruelty people like Ronan are capable of. It is why he was _betraying_ him.

Not that anyone will believe him, of course. But he can take of himself, and the prison, while housing most of the more repulsive inhabitants of the galaxy, is, as he says, a mere dream compared to the nightmares he has left behind. He will be targeted. He can withstand it.

Interestingly enough, but not unexpectedly (it is only too easy to envision Quill angering someone so far as to put a ridiculous bounty on her head), Quill is also targeted, almost immediately accosted by a hulking inmate on their way in, the convict leering at her in ways that suggest he is not the only one to have to watch his back in this prison.

She is wide-eyed and retreating, but there is a distinct lack of cowering and pleading for her skin that he would have expected. So perhaps she is not completely dishonorable. That, or she is simply too proud for her own good. As if she has anything to be proud of.

The raccoon and his bodyguard put a stop to the inmate's harassment (and frankly he himself feels considerably cautioned by the display), and Quill passes through the prison safely. Gamor could care less. He has enough problems of his own to worry about.

* * *

To his complete and utter bewilderment, less than a day later he finds himself allying himself with the raccoon-Rocket, the tree-Groot (as if he did not catch that three times on the way in), and, of all people, _Quill_.

She is still obnoxious. And annoying. And lacks all honor. But his opinion has changed of her, slightly, _slightly_ in her favor. After all, it isn't just anyone who would brave the wrath of murderous convicts in order to save the life of a man who nearly stabbed her in the head. As she says, it is not the first time someone has attempted to murder her (he finds that far too easy to believe), but it is still a remarkable act of courage, and, oddly, a twisted sort of...caring.

Which is wildly confusing to him, because he has given her literally no reason whatsoever to care whether he lives or dies. It is most frustrating.  
He doesn't exactly have time for this train of thought, though, because the alarms are blaring and guards are rushing them from all sides, and he hopes beyond hope that Rocket is serious about that plan.

His part in said plan is relatively uncomplicated-snatching a wristband off a guard is a mere trifle compared to what he's done in the past. He turns to check on Quill-not because he is worried, but because she is crucial to this plan- and finds her handling herself surprisingly well, knocking out one guard with a prothsetic (he is not sure he wants to know how she got that) and grabbing his gun, determinedly blasting the security drones with practiced aim.  
At least that's one of their group who can handle themselves.

Groot is growing taller and taller, reaching towards the tower with Rocket on his back, so they seem fine, and-why is that alien who nearly slit his throat running towards them-_oh_. Alright. Maybe crushing the security drone with his bare hands before it blasted Quill's head off is impressive. Maybe he even feels a bit of gratitude towards the man-only because it would be highly inconvenient if he lost his connection the orb now. But the alien (Drex? Drax? Something destructive) must be out of his mind if he thinks he is coming with them. They already have enough lunatics on board this psychotic escape plan.

* * *

He comes with them. Gamor is going to die surrounded by idiots.

* * *

It is official- this endeavor is going to be the end of Gamor.

Or the end of any dignity, reputation, and credibility he has.

They escape the prison-Rocket proves remarkably capable at engineering near-impossible escapes-and Quill once again impresses him with her stupidity. Who in their right mind risks re-capture for a music device? Ridiculous.

But the point is that they have the orb, they have a ship (filthy, disgusting thing that it is-Quill clearly has no sense of basic cleanliness), and in minutes they will be meeting with the Collector and he will be rid of the orb, rid of these insane people, and rid of his life with Thanos, halfway across the galaxy with the money.  
And it is a damned good thing too, because Quill has gone from annoyingly interesting asshole to the biggest enigma he has ever faced.  
He almost _kissed _her.

What the krutacking _hell_.

He can blame it on fatigue-he has been going hard for days, it is only natural his mental well-being will be addled; he can blame it on her pelvic sorcery-he can grudgingly admit that he understands now why some people would find her attractive, she does possess a nice set of hips (not that he cares, of course, it is merely very hard not to notice someone's hips when they press themselves that close to you)-but if he is to be honest with himself (which he will never be), it is because under the swirling galaxy on the terrace, the light caught her hair just so that he could see the threads of gold woven amongst the reddish-brown curls where they fell to her shoulders, the stars reflected in her hazel eyes and set them glimmering as she stumbled over words-"_on that day she-the day-the day I left earth"_-and for a moment she was not Star-lord, arrogant and dishonorable outlaw, but Petra, a painfully bright enigma that has admittedly good taste in music.

And then she leaned in to kiss him and the moment shattered-no matter what her eyes did in the low light and how content her music made him, she was still _Quill_ and she was still a Ravager. She probably had moments like this all the time, had plenty of men she had seduced under the stars, all of them meaning less than the previous.

He cannot believe their lips were_ that close_.

Unacceptable.

He cuts the near-kiss off with a knife to her throat, which, while effective, is perhaps a tad excessive, as she shrinks back from the cold steel, forehead scrunching up in fear and indignation. (Why does it make him uncomfortable that he is the cause of her fear?)

Fortunately (because he has no idea what he would have done next) they are broken up by the violence inside, Rocket and Drax having finally decided their differences are a bit too much.

They are acting like damned fools and he tells them as much, however, it is ultimately Petra who breaks it up, throwing herself between the two, arms outstretched in a feeble attempt to calm them down. All in all, rather brave-no, no she is just calming them because she wants the money, there are no altruistic motives hidden in this woman.

She is successful in the end, though, and he is forced to reevaluate his opinions on Rocket-they all are, he thinks. The raccoon has been through far more than he would have thought, and the pain in his voice is humbling. It brings a pang to his heart, because perhaps there is some tiny pocket of goodness left in his heart that wishes to comfort Rocket.

But the doors are opening, and the Collector is summoning them, and he does not have time to deal with Rocket, much less Drax as he storms away. He enters the private room and Quill and the others follow. It is time to end this madness.

* * *

Wrong. Everything has gone horribly, horribly wrong and he is angry at everything. Angry at Drax, for being so unbelievably stupid and calling Ronan; angry at Nebula, for being so painfully blind to others' manipulation; angry at Quill for once and for all proving that she is a dishonorable coward who cares only for her own interests; and angry at himself, for being so painfully, stupidly blind and believing he could do something right for once, something _good_.

His emotions swirl around him as he pilots the pod through the clogged airways of Knowhere, fleeing from his adopted sister and Ronan's soldiers. The pain he feels over his sister's ruinous rage is equaled only by his utter frustration and disappointment in Quill, who is following them close behind, Rocket by her side. He has no idea what has happened to Drax-he does not care.

All he needs to care about is keeping the Infinity Stone as far away as possible from madmen like Ronan, from schemers like the Collector, and from sellouts like Quill. This stone holds the power to decimate entire civilizations, and that is a horror he is all too familiar with. He will not let that happen to someone else.  
He is going to take the stone and get away, away from the hate of Thanos and the manic plans of Ronan, away from people like Quill who do nothing but disappoint. The fact that he had even considered, just for a minute, that she was something other than a self-centered, cowardly thief is pathetic. (And horribly, saddeningly disappointing- far more emotionally provoking than it should be).

And he thinks, for a moment, that he will succeed, that escape is near- but this is Nebula, and Nebula, forever overlooked by Thanos, does not forgive. And she does not fail. He can give a faint nod of appreciation to Quill and Rocket's attempts, but in the end he is forced to flee to space.  
He is just registering the growing frost on the pod, pleading with Nebula to _stop _when her words cut through his desperation.

_"You will already be dead."_

And then the pod explodes and Gamor is flung forward into oblivion.

* * *

_It is cold. Painfully so. Cold and dark and dying he is dying there is no oxygen to breathe no flowing blood through his veins and he is no better than a corpse now-  
And then there is air, air and a pressure around his shoulders and he is still freezing but the darkness is clearing, clearing to fill his vision with a red haze, and the face is horribly blurry but there are hazel eyes staring at him, bloodshot and eyelashes frosting with ice but set determinedly with so deep with an emotional something that he cannot understand, and her reddish-brown curls with the streaks of gold are turning white with frost and he does not understand, he does not understand, she is going to die what is she doing-_

_And then the space around them lights up and they are surrounded by ships, and they are moving slowly and the cold is growing less bitter, and Petra Quill is holding him close and Gamor __**does not understand**__._

* * *

Apparently the fates have all gone stark-raving mad, because there is nothing in Gamor's life that makes sense anymore and the universe may as well just have gone and turned on its metaphorical head.

Because as of this moment he is dressed in Ravager garb, working with Ravager outlaws and four of the most insanely complicated people he has ever known, embarking on what is essentially a suicide mission to stop a madman from destroying an entire world, and instead of acting like a sane person he has never felt more _right_ in his life. He feels like he _belongs_.

It is quite an unexpectedly pleasant feeling.

He does not know where to begin to describe what just transpired-one moment he was dead in space, the next Petra (no longer Quill, she is Petra now, and Petra is someone he cannot even begin to comprehend) was sprawled over him on the floor of an unfamiliar ship, her breathing harsh as she disconnected her mask from him, their faces close enough that he could see the tendrils of ice melting off her eyelashes and the jarring bloodshot-redness of her eyes fade from the warm hazel.

The gravity of just what she had done had clicked only seconds later.

She had left the safety of her pod, used her boots to reach him, taken off her mask, and given it to him. In the middle of space. Where she knew she would die.

For him.

She was willing to _sacrifice _her own damn life for _him_ and that is leaving Gamor so completely astounded as he is forced to reevaluate everything he has compiled about Petra Quill.

Naturally, she completely ruined the moment one minute after they were in the safety of the ship, but the facts still stand that she nearly died for him.

Stars, _why?_

Despite the whirling confusion transpiring inside his head, the next moments are, quite unpleasantly, fresh in his memory. While he had known that Petra had severely angered her former companions, he was not expecting them to slam her against the wall like that, securing her tightly by her arms, and _beat _her.

The sight of her face contorting as a crewmember slammed into her abdomen is not only so completely _wrong_, it also filled him with a burning sense of what was almost-_protectiveness_? No. That could not have been not it.

But if he is ever caught alone with that particular crewmember, one of them will not be walking away in one piece.

He refuses to even _think_ of those few moments when the Ravager leader-Yondu, he thinks-had his weapon pressed against her neck.

But Petra once again manages to amaze him, talking quickly but convincingly over the crew's angered mutterings, and Yondu apparently still harbors some sense of affection for her because the Ravagers are now following their every order and Petra's neck is obviously lacking a hole.

And then Drax and Rocket (he refuses to believe that Groot had a hand in coming up with that plan because Groot does not seem the type to _blast his friends into oblivion_) nearly ruin the entire thing, but the fact remains that they came back for him and Petra, that they put themselves on the line to rescue them, and the gesture is remarkably touching.

But it would all have been for nothing if not for Petra-it is now becoming clear that if they are to be a team she is going to be the backbone, the leading presence that brings them together. Because while she does call them losers, she is right-they have been given a chance to give a shit, and there is not one person in this group that has not proven themselves strong enough to stand against Ronan.

So when he stands up to declare that he will be happy to die among friends, he means it.

* * *

They make it on to Ronan's ship, but only through the surprising but heartening aid of the Nova Corps and Petra's impressive flying. It is pulse-pounding and exciting, and he has never felt more alive than when does as they slide screeching and sparking into the Dark Aster_,_ Drax laughing manically behind them.

They are just like the great hero Kevin Bacon that Petra told him about, and he tells her as much. He is rewarded by a half-disbelieving grin on her face as she picks herself out of the wrecked ship, her hair wildly escaping her ponytail.

They move through the ship with Groot lighting the way, and, despite the essential suicide that this plan is, Gamor is filled with a strange faith in his companions-his _friends_-and that wonderful sense of belonging.

Drax seems to think the same, for he says as much, though Gamor really can go without being called green expletives.

But then Nebula is there, deadly and glaring and angry, practically spitting venom as she insults him.

A tirade which is cut off as Drax blasts her across the ship, which brings a smirk to Petra's face and an unhealthy amount of satisfaction to Gamor.

But even half-shattered Nebula will not go down-he knows as much, knows what Thanos has done to her-so the others leave to find Ronan and he pushes all worry for them from his mind, focusing solely on his sister and dismantling the security.

The obvious option is to kill her, to end this as quickly as possible. But years spent together under the cruel watch of Thanos are not easily forgotten, and Gamor finds himself not only unable to kill her, but losing. Rather miserably, to be honest.

He pleads with her, he tries, tries to convince her that this is madness, because can she truly not see that? But Nebula is too far gone and his pleas fall on deaf ears, and Drax and Groot and Rocket and Xandar and Petra are counting on him, relying on him to open the door.

And he will not fail them. Because right now he is giving a shit, he is doing something _good_ and he will not fail those who have given him the opportunity to do so.

So he pulls on his years of training, everything he has ever learned from countless sparring with Nebula, and she flies out of the ship and chooses to fall, running from the universe that has wronged her so.

It strikes a painful chord in him that she would choose that path, but he has no time to worry about that, because Groot and Drax and Petra need him to open the door _now_, so he rips through the control with savage pleasure and blasts his way to the floor above. He meets Petra's eyes, flashing her a grin that nearly matches her own in raw adrenaline.

It is time to end this.

* * *

Groot is dead. Groot is dead and Ronan is about to destroy Xandar and Petra is _dancing_. When did his life lose its grasp on reality?

But Drax is nodding and Rocket is furiously connecting wires on his contraption and his life slightly regains its grip-Petra is distracting, and in the only way she knows how.

It is so completely crazy it just might work, but they have already blasted Ronan once, do they honestly expect another blast to finish the job-

And then Rocket aims but not at Ronan-he hits the stone dead on and it flies from the shattered weapon, arcing into the air as Petra dives forward and it hits him horribly what she is about to do.

"_Petra NO!"_

She beats out Ronan and her fingertips close around the stone, and the world explodes in purple. There is dirt and wind and purple swirling in his face but the only thing he notices is Petra's screaming and her skin as it breaks apart, ripping and charring away as the purple energy destroys her completely.

There is nothing in his mind but panic and horror and the Collector's words, and he needs to take her hand but there is too much power and he _can't reach her_-

"_Petra! Take my hand!"_

She turns to him, her hazel eyes black and purple as the skin of her face cracks away, the purple eating away at her hair and for one horrible moment he thinks he is going to lose her to the power that is the Infinity Stone.

But amidst the purple ravaging a tear drops down her face and her lips form a single "_Mom_". Then she reaches out her hand and grasps onto his and he is _torn apart_.

It is pain beyond anything he has ever experienced, ever imagined, a power so intense that it is ripping away at the very core of him, reducing him to nothing, and they are not going to make this-

But then the pain lessens and his vision is clearing, and he is unexplainably aware of a third presence joining them. Then a fourth, and a spark of a fifth, and then he is Gamor again but he is also Petra and Drax and Rocket and Groot (_We Are Groot_), and Petra is calling Ronan a bitch and they are the Guardians of the Galaxy, and Ronan will not be destroying this planet.

* * *

It is approximately a week since the defeat of Ronan, and while Gamor's life has apparently decided it will never be making any sense again, he honestly does not care.

Because now he is hailed as a hero, and there are tens of thousands of people that live, thousands of families that are not suffering, because he and his handful of misfits were brave enough to give a shit. It is an unusual feeling, to be praised by others instead of feared, but it is one he thinks he can get used to.

And while the accolades and erasure of his criminal record is all good and well, the true reason, or reasons, he finds himself so hopelessly happy are the four individuals accompanying him as they board the reconstructed Milano_,_ still playfully arguing over whether or not ripping someone's spine out is a pardonably understandable course of action.

Rocket is clutching Groot's pot close, the tiny but growing tree swaying happily, and the raccoon seems far more relaxed, far more at ease than Gamor can remember him appearing at the start of all this. Drax, unrepentantly shirtless as always, seems equally content-and Gamor know that while he will always mourn the loss of his family, perhaps that awful, consuming rage that labeled him the destroyer can finally fade, shaping its way into something stronger as he finds his place among a new family.

Which leaves him at Petra, Star-lady (as he has convinced her to use-she does not need to masquerade as a man to convince others she is strong now) and still obnoxiously loud and happy, but also kind and good and self-sacrificing, and by far the brightest person Gamor has ever come across.

He finds her sitting in her bunk and staring at the music speaker, her eyes misting over as the first sounds of music filter their way through the ship. The melody is both pleasant and happy, and it obviously carries a deep meaning for Petra. So when she turns to face him, her expression one of half-joy and half-grief, he nods his head to the music, a gesture he hopes she understands means that while he will not be willing to dance today, there is possibility for the future.

Because really, it would be a shame to never see her move her hips like that again. Not that that has any meaning to him, of course-they are friends, and he can appreciate his friend's pelvic sorcery if he wishes to. And his friend's reddish-brown hair with those golden threads that catch the light every time she turns her head. And his friend's warm hazel eyes that meet his and leave him spinning slightly where he stands because he has never had emotion like that directed at him before.

There is nothing wrong with simply appreciating his friend.

And he does appreciate her, because as they join the others in the cockpit and Petra, dazzlingly confident again, asks them where they should go, he willingly gives the command to someone else for the first time in his life, because if the Star-lady is leading, then, he supposes, he will be quite content to follow her anywhere.

So they leave for the stars, to do a little of good and a little of bad, and Gamor is finally, _finally_ free.


End file.
